Attack of the Red Hood
by Richards9999
Summary: To cope with the disappearance of Oliver, Thea has taken over ownership of the club. Whilst she is determined to make a success of it, the pressures of the job puts stress on her health and her relationship with Roy. Then an visitor throws her a massive curve ball...


"Do you know what the hardest think about running a club is?" quizzed Thea not looking up from the papers she had been scrutinising for over fifteen minutes.

"I've got some idea," said Roy, hefting another crate on the bar full of liquor onto the bar, "but I'm sure it doesn't match yours. Shifting crates from the cellar to here must be up there, right?"

Thea, again not looking up, shook her head. "It's the paperwork," she murmured simply. "There's, like, a mountain of paperwork."

"Yeah," agreed Roy nodding his head with mock solidarity, "that would've been my second guess."

Thea looked up for the first time. "Really?" she enquired, her face breaking into a lopsided grin, a challenging eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," Roy nodded in agreement. "That's real hard work. Numbers and all. Not like, I don't know, running the door or stocking the bar..."

"It's more difficult than you think," she said, her eyes returning to the paperwork on the bar top. "And with Ollie gone, it's not getting any easier."

Sensing her mood was shifting Roy fluidly moved along the bar and wrapped his arms around Thea, enveloping her midriff in his sinewy arms. He lay his chin on the crown of her head and pulled her into him so that the contours of her back mirrored those of his front. She felt his touch and instantly brought her hands up to cradle his where they held her on her stomach. Her eyes closed and a warm smile flooded across her face. Here, in his arms, she felt safe. She felt as if the whole world was being kept at bay by the barrier her lover could instantly throw around her. She felt his lips on her neck: small, concise pecks that sent sparks through her nerve endings which electrified her spine. She sighed again. This was what her life should be, she thought, this simplicity. Wrapped in the arms of the one she loved with all the restraints if responsibility removed.  
Life wasn't like that, she knew. If it were there would have never been the earthquakes, her mother wouldn't be in prison and Ollie...

"I'd love to keep this up, Mr Harper," she said, reality descending on her like a thick fog, "but I have work to do."

She swivelled in Roy's grasp so they were face to face and planted a brief, yet sensuous kiss on her lips. "Later," she whispered, breaking his hug - and the magic, as far as he was concerned - and returned to her paper work.

"Yeah," said Roy not managing to disguise his disappointment. He moved back along the bar and recommenced his previous task of lifting the crates. He stole quick glances at Thea as his laboured noting her radical transformation from fun loving rich party girl to serious would-be business woman inside a few months. And, whilst he knew it had been necessary, it was a metamorphosis that didn't sit that well on his shoulders. How long would it be, he often thought, before her heat ambition drives a wedge between them and he becomes just another employee rather than her, what, boyfriend? That was a word that didn't sit well in their relationship at present. It was like she's forgotten he was there. Not just in the physical sense, for support, comfort and anything else she had in mind.

As if reading his mind (although it was more because of the way he channeling his mood through the slamming of the crates), Thea sighed heavily and turned to Roy.

"Look," she said flatly, "I know this isn't ideal. I know this isn't what we both want but it's the situation we have to deal with. I never wanted to run this place," she gestured somewhat over dramatically with her hand. " I never wanted The Glades to be turned to rubble. I never wanted Tommy to die. I never wanted Ollie to leave. I never wanted my mom to be a murderer. But that's what happened."

"I know," he said quietly, pausing in his task. He thought he could see tears threatening to crawl down her cheeks, betraying her emotions and sapping her strength.

"I just wanted to have a good time, live a good life, spend time with you," Thea continued, her voice wavering slightly as the emotion threatened to break through. "And that... that would be so easy. We could do it now, you know. Just up and leave everything."

She placed her hand on the bar to steady herself and again fought back the tears that wished to gatecrash her strong demeanour.

"But I can't," she said simply. "I can't leave this for someone else because there may not be a someone else, Roy." She moved towards him reaching up smothering him in an impromptu embrace. He pulled her closer again feeling her soft form melt into him like modelling clay. He held her close to him letting her presence, her smell, her being over power him. At that moment he never wanted to let her go. He wanted to run far away from the club, from The Glades, from this life but he knew that, although at that precise moment it seemed like a good idea - the only idea that was in his head - they wouldn't do it.

She was right: there were thing that needed doing. And right now, they were the only ones who could do them. Slowly he released Thea, kissing her lightly on the forehead and letting her slip gently through his fingers. Her head raised towards him and he met her eyes, casting a reassuring smile at her as he did so.

"I know," he repeated. And she knew he meant it.

"Miss Queen," came a gruff voice, shattering the serene silence that had descended around them. Thea turned slowly, not wanting to rip her eyes from Roy, and saw one of her security team standing at the entrance, his bulky frame bloating out the light that usually flooded in from the hall beyond.

"Yes?" Thea trilled, instantly composing herself and hoping that he hasn't been witness to the events of the last few minutes. "What is it, Mr Kovacs?"

"There's a guy," Kovacs the head of the club's security, grunted. "Wants to talk about security."

"Show him to the office and meet me there," she barked, instantly assuming a business persona borne of necessity rather than experience. She turned to Roy and offered a pained expression followed a mouth "Sorry", then blew him a kiss before vanishing into the club's labyrinthine interior.

Roy watched her go, smiled to himself and returned to his task of lifting crates.

Thea wasn't quite used to the idea of having an office. She was unaware of the usual protocols and wasn't sure what she was supposed to do in it. Usually she would forsake the musty room with its sparse furnishings and stark filing cabinets for the openness of the club's main bar area. She could work just as easily there. And didn't Ollie, when he was around, only use the room for meetings? she thought. Sauce for the goose and all that.

Opposite her seated, in a black leather chair that had hardly seen any use, was a man in an expensive black suit. He was older than Oliver and probably younger than her father has been the last time they had met. His hair was dark, but streaked with grey and his eyes shone like pure sapphires behind their drooping hoods. Two other men stood behind him, both bulky in their suits and probably average height. Her own security, Walter Kovacs, a broad man, whose bulky muscles stretched the fabric if his suit taut over his exaggerated frame, stood to her right and it was clear that he was slightly uneasy about this meeting.

"So," said Thea, leaning forward, placing her elbows on the desk and steeping her fingers, "what can I do for you, Mr...?"

"Venezia," the man offered. "Paulo Venezia."

"Well," said Thea with a guarded smile, "I'm glad to meet your acquaintance, Mr Venezia."  
He nodded a response. "My question still stands," she said, a little more forcefully. "What can I do for you?"

"I want to talk about security, Miss Queen," the man began, idly moving a coin up and down his knuckles in a display of dexterity.

"I have security," Thea replied, jabbing a thumb at the man stood beside her. "I'm quite happy with them."

"It's not that sort of security I'm talking about," Venezia said, leaning forward in his chair, his move splitting into a malevolent leer. "I'm talking about insurance."

Venezia's actions made Thea instantly fall back into her chair. She could feel her fear rising, flushing her cheeks crimson and increasing the beat of her heart. Her felt her lip quiver slightly as she fought to compose herself. Her clammy hands fought for a grip on the arms of her unfamiliar chair but found none and slid into her lap. The man opposite continued to eye her, his mouth stuck into a rictus grin and his shoulders hunched like a vulture. She fought for something to say, something to come back at him with, but her throat was dry and the words could not be formed. Panic scythed through her mind forcing it to race through memories of times when she had felt this previously. There were scenarios of when she was castigated by her mother for breaking a vase and the time her father grounded her for scratching his car with a stick. Those were long past now. Times when, as a child, she had felt vulnerable and along as adults judged her behaviour as unacceptable. Now, faced with someone who was attempting to make her regress to that tone frame and make her feel the same, she knew she had to raise above it. She was, after all, an adult now. And one with a series of responsibilities that she had to see through.

With this is mind she took a deep breath and retook her forward leaning stance at the desk. Her heart still pumped faster than she was used to but she tried to use the increase in adrenaline to her advantage. She fixed Venezia with a stare, locking eyes in an attempt to take back the ground she has lost at the beginning of the conversation.

"I have insurance," she said smartly, her voice trembled with the fear that had yet to dissipate. "It's a condition of my license that this establishment is covered for every eventuality."

Kovacs had unfolded his arms and had taken a step closer the Thea. His hard face unchanged from grim expression he constantly wore. His eyes bore into Venezia like cold daggers seeking out his soul. The visitor, sensing the shift in the big man's attitude, leaned back in his chair again, his grin unflinching.

"Really?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked in mock surprise. "Every eventually? Like, I don't know, a sudden fire, maybe? A gang choosing your club as a place to hold a fight club, perhaps? Your security not turning up...?"

He paused, shrugging his shoulders as if to suggest that Thea would be happy with those circumstances, then said: "I guess they have insurance for anything these days, huh?"

"And the police!" Thea shot back. Her fear had been pushed to the side in favour of the anger that was swelling up inside of her. How dare this random guy come into Ollie's - no her, her club - and threaten her!

"The police? Really honey," Venezia chuckled darkly. "May I bring your attention to the reason that The Glades is currently lying in ruins is down to the Queens? Can you really see the cops jumping to attention and rushing to your aid?"

Thea glared at him, her fists clenching; teeth grinding. Kovacs cracked his knuckles behind her.

"I didn't think so," Venezia chuckled and relaxed once more. "I think once you consider my offer you'll find it more that generous."

"I won't be needing your services, Mr Venezia," Thea said, her calm voice surprising her given the circumstances. "I'll take my chances."

"Suit yourself," said Venezia. "Although you need to bear in mind things happen. Bad things."

He stood, bowed a sneering goodbye, and was escorted out by Kovacs, flanked by his entourage. Thea watched him go and exhaling deeply buried her face in her hands. The worst thing about running a club, she thought, was the people you had to keep out.

Over the next few weeks Thea became increasingly preoccupied by the veiled warnings that Venezia had given. She became terse in her language, strict in her direction and sharp in her orders. Every event that appeared to be out of the ordinary age suspected was of Venezia's making. Be it a fight in the queue between two unassuming young men, a security guard not turning in for their shift, or a random drugs raid by the unsympathetic and uncompromising Starling City police department, she felt as if Venezia was behind it. So much was the transformation that Roy barely recognised the young woman who was meant to be his girlfriend. In fact, he wasn't sure she wanted him around any more, such was the infrequency with which they spoke, let alone touched. He was caught between two minds as to whether to cut his loses, leave the club and take his chances elsewhere in The Glades.

He caught her alone in the club one morning as he undertook his usual tasks and approached with a view to clearing the air.

"Hey," he said, hefting the crates onto the bar. She looked up at him and offered a fleeting smile. Then her head returned to be books and she continued as if nothing had happened. It was as if he hadn't spoken; had existed.

"Is this us now?" he said, feeling a wave of anger washing through him. His fists curled, his heart pumped. He could feel his temperature rising as he slammed a crate down on the bar top and spun to glare at her.

"What?" Thea said, obviously annoyed by the distraction.

"I said: is this us now?" Roy mouthed the words slowly through clenched teeth. His brow furrowed into a scowl. "You haven't talked to me, or wanted to meet up, or anything," he continued. "If you want out just say it and I'll be gone."

Thea slapped the bar top where she was sat with her palms and shot Roy an exasperated glance.

"I have a bar to run, Roy," she said simply, she could feel the condescension in her time but she did nothing to counter it. She held up a schedule she's been working on:"I have things to take care of."

"And it's obvious we aren't on the list!" Roy spat. "If this is how it's going to be, then I'm gone."

"What are you talking about?" Thea failed to see why Roy was directing his anger at her. What did he need from her? She would hold her hands up and say that maybe they hadn't spent a lot of time together over the pat few weeks, but she had things to do. She thought he understood that.

"Roy," she said, her voice wavering,"things are a little complicated right now. I just don't have time to argue about -"

He cut her off: "You never do, Thea! You never have time for anything other than this club!"

"It's important to me, Roy," she shot back.

"And I'm not?" he challenged. "I get it now. I'm not as important as your precious club. You know, I thought you were different to the other Queens. I thought you cared, but you're just the rest of your family!"

Thea stood and was about to plead her case when the sound of breaking glass followed by a hideous crunching noise shattered both of their trains of thought and forced them to spin around to face the dance floor. A large slab of concrete had been dropped through a skylight and was now imbedded in the hardwood of the floor.

Thea stood rooted to the spot, stunned. The large block was only feet away from where she and Roy stood. If one of them had moved...she quickly banished that thought.

"What?" said Roy, staring in disbelief at the large lump of masonry.

"We're fine Mr Kovacs," Thea said with a trembling voice. "It missed us."

"Well, that's fortuitous," said a new voice, dripping with malice and smug self satisfaction. "I did tell you accidents could happen."

Thea spun around to face Venezia who had entered the club and was standing in the door way flanked by his muscle. His eyes scanned the scene and his face split into the same leering grim as he had used several weeks before.

"You!" screamed Thea, racing towards to new entrant her fists raised. "You did this!"

Roy's statue-like state released when he realised what his girl fired was going to do, and dived after her. She managed to evade his clawing grasp and rushed the unsuspecting Venezia. Kovacs was wise to her action, however, and neatly stepped between his boss and the new comer to prevent any interaction.

"You think I did this, Miss Queen?" Venezia asked, his voice arching in mock surprise, his hand flourishing in an expansive gesture. "I think you may be mistaken. Or if you'd wish to take it further sure the police and my lawyer would he only too happy listen to your story."

"I know you did this!" she screamed, struggling in Kovacs' bear like grasp.

"As we discussed at out previous meeting, Miss Queen," Venezia said, his grin unwavering, "in more in the prevention business. Perhaps if you'd taken my advice no of this would have happened." He shook his head in mock sympathy. "It's such a shame. Such. A. Shame."  
"Who the hell are you man?" Roy exploded, rushing up to Venezia to bring his face close to the other's. They were almost the same height so the gesture had, from Roy's perspective the desired effect.

"I'm an insurance salesman," growled Venezia, through his rictus sneer. Then, turning his head to Thea he said: " Call off your puppy or I won't be responsible for the actions of my men. Self defence and all that. You know how it is?"

Roy snarled and raised a fist, them checked himself as Thea called his name. His anger, which was still blazing since the earlier exchange with Thea was still raw and bursting for an outlet. He knew he could get a good punch on Venezia, but he also knew he wouldn't stand a chance against his pit-bulls. Venezia's aides shuffled their feet impatiently behind their boss. Their eyes remained glued to Roy and he slowly backed away.

"So, Mr Queen. To business," Venezia said at last, clasping his hands on front of him and rubbing them together in anticipation. "Do we have a deal?"

"What?!" yelled Thea still wrestling with Kovacs.

"A deal," said Venezia simply. "Bearing in mind your accident here you wouldn't want another, would you?"

Fear and realisation suddenly flooded over Thea. What if spleen had been standing under that rock? They would've been killed. She looked at the slab then at Venezia. Here was a man that would not stop until he'd had his way. That was obvious. And there was nothing she could do.

"No," she said, defeated. "No I wouldn't. Let's go to my office." And she shook herself loose from Kovacs and headed to the the small, sparsely furnished room.

"Who is that guy?" Roy said to one of the remaining security guards once Thea and Kovacs had disappeared with their visitors.

"Some big shot," the man said shaking his head on his thick neck. "The word is he runs rackets all over The Glades. Since the earthquake he's found the local businesses are easy pickings."

"And you're going to let him do it here?" Roy raged, his voice sounded ragged and hard to his own ears. The man with whom he was talking flinched at Roy's vocal assault.

"Hey," the man said, taking a step backwards,"I've got a family. I keep my head down and do my job. I ain't no vigilante, kid. And, before you get any ideas, neither are you."

"Yeah?" Roy said through gritted teeth. "We'll see about that."

He turned and walked back to the bar feeling the impotent rage building inside him. Over his shoulder he heard voices and the sound of the outer door slamming shut. Kovacs appeared with Thea beside him. Her face was moist with fresh tears and she was visibly shaking. She walked into the club proper and said quietly - but deliberately: "Let's clean this place up. We open in four hours."

This wasn't a part of The Glades he was overly familiar with. Whilst he'd lived here from birth and, given his status and contacts, there were areas that even he chose not to go. Necessity, however, forced his hand and, despite every cell in his body screening that this as a bad idea, he found himself gingerly walking down a street that, historically, would house muggers and other violent criminals and this is what he was counting on. He knew to help Thea he had to find out more about this Venezia character, and this was the place to do so.  
The door man at the club had give him a starting point. Whilst it hadn't been easy to persuade him, Roy hadn't had to resort to violence to get the information. A subtler strategy came through instead: Roy simply presented a scenario to the man where the club closed, he lost his job and he couldn't provide for his family. How would he feel then? If he had any information, Roy had said, he should release it to him. He could put Venezia out of business. The doorman had sighed and capitulated: "There's a gang I've heard of that run rackets," he had said. "It's just a rumour, but it could be a start."

Roy pulled his red sweat top tighter around his body and threw the hood over his head to cover his face. The last thing he needed was to be recognised by a casual acquaintance or ghost from his past. The bag slung over his shoulder bulged with conical weight of his cargo and the dull chimes from within betrayed the nature of its contents. Roy knew he would have to gather information quickly and so he had come prepared: the bag would offer incentive, the brass knuckles in his pocket would by an insurance.

The streets were of the district told a familiar and sad story. One of neglect and decay. Long broken and unwanted household items stood on street corners where their previous owners had eft them. Cars, the product of crime of otherwise, were lifeless shells of rusted metal. Their usefulness, like their working parts long since past. Children in dirty clothes played in the gutter with the detritus reclaimed from the refuge piled high in and around dumpsters the city had conveniently forgotten to empty. And the gangs of youths held court on virtually every street corner, exchanging nefarious goods, bleak looks and, in extreme circumstances, blows. Occasionally, these skirmishes would involve weapons. Normally these would be improvised. A broken bottle perhaps, or a wooden leg of a trashed chair. Rarely would there be a knife or a gun. The losers in these battles would be dragged off to some den or hideout to heal their wounds, the winners would crow about the victory, savouring the spoils, parading their pomp and circumstance safe in the knowledge that Starling City police department had conveniently forgotten they existed. It was a gang like this that Roy approached.

"I'm looking for someone," he said quietly. He held his hands firmly in his pockets clasping the brass knuckles in flexed fingers.

"So?" said a gang member, perched on the hood of a beaten up car. "Who the hell are you?"

Roy surveyed the gang quickly. There were six of them, all dressed in baggy clothes and running shoes. He guessed that they could conceivably be hiding weapons in the folds of the sportswear, but nothing deadlier than a knife or a club. They appeared to his age or younger and, judging by their size and bulk, it was possible that they could handle themselves in a fight. The odds weren't good, but he was willing to give them a shot. Correction, he had to for Thea.

"I'm the guy who needs information," he said calmly, he felt a smile edging across his face . "And the guy who's gonna kick your ass if I don't get it."

"Is that so?" said another gang member. He looked older than the others. More composed and restrained in his demeanour. "Information don't come cheap. And maybe we ain't in the business of dealing with punks."

The other gang members howled in agreement at this last statement. High fives and play punches were traded amongst the congregation, along with hoots of "help yeah" and "awright!". Roy's smile widened. He'd piqued their interest, now was the time to pry open the negotiations.

"Well," he said smoothly, "you'll be happy to learn I'm no punk." Slowly he withdrew a bottle of liquor he'd borrowed from the club and held it for approval. "Let's start negotiations, shall we?"

For the most part, Roy got what he wanted with the minimum of effort. Any barriers to negotiation were instantly removed once the trade bottles of whiskey were handed over. The gang leader - although maintaining an air of aloofness for appearances - was only too willing to give up any information relating to Venezia. Indeed, the man - a relative newcomer - was muscling in on the action. That's wasn't how it was done in The Glades. If there was a turf dispute, it was settled the old fashioned way. If there was a challenge on the business you did, it was survival of the fittest. You just didn't assume that the business was there to be taken. Like Venezia had. The leader barked a business address at Roy.

"You'll catch him alone there at the moment," the leader barked, not leaving his perch once during the negotiations. "All his men are out on visits. Time it right you'll have him all to your self."

"That's much appreciated," Roy said trying hard to stifle a grin. He waved his thanks and started to leave before the leader called him back.

"Hey!" the seated man called out. "Just one favour: do him some damage from me, eh?"

Both young men then burst into laughter and Roy ran off to the rendezvous location.

Night was falling as Roy reached the address he's been given. Shadows were creeping out from their daylight hiding places and beginning to assert themselves on the streets. What businesses were left in this part if town were closing up and maybe starting to add up that day's meagre takings as the broken street lights stuttered into life shedding uneven light on the corrupted pavements. Very soon the cats and other animals of dusk would reclaim the roads and alleys from the daylight workers turning the darkness and shadows into a playground of petty crime and nuisance making. This was The Glades, then. In all its broken glory: corrupt and neglected and left to decay in its own waste.

According to Roy's information, Venezia was using a ruined Italian restaurant as a base of operations. From his vantage point across the street Roy could see it's boarded up frontage and the conspicuous car - probably full of goons - parked out front. Slowly, he approached the building from the opposite side of the street, using the shadows and other parked cars for cover. Ducking low behind a long saloon car directly opposite the restaurant, he peeked over the bonnet just enough to observe the front of the establishment. There was not, as he had at first thought, anybody sitting in the vehicle. In fact, from what he could see of the restaurant behind it, the whole place seemed devoid of life. Maybe this should have worried him, he thought but he's come this far - maybe too far - to let doubt get in the way. He did, however, have a slight tug at his conscious: what would Thea think? He knew her view on all things violent and, bearing in mind her revised role as owner and manager of Oliver's club, she would probably want to distance herself from any publicity his actions could cause. His mind clouded slightly with thoughts of her face: smiling, frowning, laughing. He recalled her touch for a fleeting second: her arms wrapping his frame snugly, her lips brushing his, her eyes drawing him toward him like a magnet. All of this may have tempered whatever fury burned within him, save for the fact that it was for her that he was doing this. He pushed down his emotion as it threatened to choke him and reached into his pocket for his 'phone.

The club had a healthy buzz of activity about it. Thea stood at the centre of the dance floor co-ordinating the various builders and other construction people in the replacement of the floor and sky light. It hadn't been easy to muster up the people to get the jobs done quickly but, as anyone in big business would tell you, money talks. She was paying probably twice over the odds for the work but, given the circumstances, it would probably be worth it. The police has shown a fleeting interest in the crime. A squad car had pulled up and enquired about a disturbance. Kovacs had put them straight and they'd left without any real issues.

Her adrenaline was probably keeping her going as was the thoughts that she needed to open tonight. It would be fair to say that if she wasn't focused on opening tonight she would be collapsed in a heap with a cocktail of drugs for company. She wasn't going down that route. No, Venezia, for all the deals she'd made with him, was not going to beat her.

The barstaff were helping clean up the mess that was being made by the builders but she was only vaguely aware of their contribution. She was so busy barking orders to the builders and decorators that she hardly heard her 'phone. It chirped merrily in her pocket to announce that she had received a text message. Idly, she thrust her hand into her jeans pocket and withdrew the device, read the screen and frowned. The message was from Roy. But, she thought, wasn't he helping out at the bar right now?

She cast her eyes over the people busy as work over at the bar. From her position at the table she couldn't make out who was who as many of the cluster of people had their backs to her. However, she was unable to identify Roy among them. Standing, she moved towards the bar, phone still in hand and enquired as to whether anyone had seen him. Collectively, the herd of barstaff shook their heads. Thea raised an eyebrow.

"When did you see him last?" she asked, her exasperation leaking out into her speech.

Her audience mumbled something about they saw him going out a few hours earlier but they didn't know where he was going. He hadn't said. Thea let out a frustrated sigh and stomped back to her table her jaw set with the anger that was raising within her. This was going to be a busy and stressful evening and her so called boyfriend just decides to leave. Her thumbs smacked the letters on her smart phone's keyboard with the force of a well placed punch as she replied to Roy's text. There had better be a good reason for him disappearing, she thought, or - boyfriend or not - there would be consequences.

Roy picked his way through an alley filled with burst furniture, decaying car parts and other detritus from the destroyed tenement blocks, and found the rear entrance of the restaurant. Like the front, this looked unguarded and, judging by the number of broken windows, probably not very secure. Gingerly, Roy vaulted the low wall that separated the back door from the alley, and crept slightly toward the building. The absence of light inside gave the impression of the absence of life. This initial thought was confirmed when Roy nudged open the back door and peered into the darkness beyond. The silence that greeted him was uncanny. It wasn't just quite it was as if he was listening to a vacuum; the opposite of sound. Fumbling in his bag he withdraw an extendable night stick which he usually kept hidden in his locker at work. Slowly, through caution and to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he stepped into the kitchen area and began to cautiously make his way into the building.

He picked his was through the deserted kitchen and dimly lit, barren dining area, still rich with utensils and furniture. Most of it was unbroken and probably still serviceable and the fact it hadn't been looted meant that the proprietor was probably scarier than the would be thieves. He presently arrived at a door labeled with the word 'Office' in gilt adhesive letters. Some were peeling from is faded varnished surface other were askew as the lack of maintenance had obviously taken its toll. He pushed the door gently and it swung open silently which was contrary to how he has imagined. Beyond it was a staircase adorned with a red, threadbare carpet. The solitary bulb on the ceiling above his head she's scant light on the stairs and cast angular shadows across the walls. From the room above he could hear voices talking in a regular rhythm. No, he corrected himself it was a song. Someone was playing music. Old, dance hall stuff. Like Billie Holiday or someone. He slowly ascended the stairs, night stick in his hand, curiosity aroused.

At the summit of the staircase Roy was greeted by another door. This one was ajar, however, and he could easily see what was going on in the room beyond. The room itself was bleakly furnished: a desk - scuffed and battered - stood at one end of the room with a gnarled chair pushed against it. A rug, as threadbare as the stair carpet, was strewn always haphazardly over the bare floorboards so that minor ranges of patchy material rose and fell in its uneven surface. In the corner stood a table and perched upon it was a portable record player. Roy recognised it as one like his mother used to have. She'd play old Elvis Presley 45s on Sunday evenings and sing along. Out of tune, of course.

As he observed the room, Roy became aware of a figure moving across the floor in time to the music. Someone was dancing. By themselves. A figure in a white suit was pirouetting across the floor (mindful enough to avoid the rucks) and mildly humming to themselves. The more Roy observed, the more fascinated he became. The man, as indeed it was, seemed oblivious to the world around him, pausing only to change step or bow to an imaginary audience. The scene was so surreal and so amusing that Roy was barely able to stifle a chortle that refused to die in his throat. The sound, albeit not at all loud, had been enough to stop the man dead mid step and force him to turn his face sharply to the door.

"Gianni!" the man called, his voice low and measured but still laced with annoyance. "Gianni, I told you I wanted to be alone! There'll be hell to pay if you've disobeyed me!"

He fascination rising, studied the man in the the room beyond. He had black hair flecked with grey which was slicked back with grease away from his face. A mask of thick grease paint: white make-up formed a base whilst blue eye shadow and red lipstick formed a grotesque clown look that was simultaneously comical and disturbing. Coupled with the music and the dancing, this clown didn't look like the man who'd reduced Thea to tears. To Roy, still trying to suppress his amusement, the man looked as threatening as a clapping monkey toy or a stuffed animal.

"Gianni!" the man called again, although this time began to walk towards the door. Then, in a sing- song voice a mother might use for speaking to a child, said: "You know I'll need to punish you if you're spying on me. And I know you don't like being spanked..."

Roy knew he'd only have a split second to act and, watching the man approach through the crack between the door and its frame, allowed him time to judge when that would be. He held his breath as the painted clown walked slowly in a kind of grotesque crouch toward the door all the while muttering "Gianni" under his breath. Roy held is breath in an anticipation of his future action. Usually, he would take the direct route. Usually, it was flying in with fists flailing and using chaos as his alley. This time he didn't think that approach would be as effective.

The man was closer now. Roy just needed as him to ease a foot or two closer then he would pounce. Whatever laughter had grown in his throat had died in the last few seconds. He had now managed to focus his mind on the task at hand. This needed to be executed precisely or it would turn ugly very quickly. He drew the hood of his ever present red sweatshirt over his head so that it shrouded his face and made future recognition difficult. He's picked up a lot from living in The Glades. Never get caught, that was the beat lesson he'd ever learnt.

He gripped the night stick in his palm and exhaled. The man was was in range for the manoeuvre Roy was going to perform and, instinctively, he performed it. He raised his foot and kicked out at the door sending it swinging back on its hinges into the clown approaching from the other side. The man fell backwards onto the rug. Then, night stick in hand, Roy leapt at him. His knees cannoned into the prone man's chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. Then, as the man called out in surprise and pain, Roy landed a blow with the nightstick across his temple forcing the man to call out.

"I'm looking for Venezia!" Roy rasped, trying to disguise his voice by growling the words from deep in his throat.

"Who wants to know?" the made up man whimpered below him. Even faced with overwhelming odds this hardened gangster didn't know when to concede defeat.

Roy paused for a second before answering: who do want to know? Him? Thea? Yes, of course they did, but he couldn't just say that. He couldn't give this low life a chance to get revenge on this humiliation. He just needed something simple that would suffice for that conversation and them be disposed of.

"You can tell him 'The Red Hood' wants him!" Roy rasped, a stray smile threatening to crept across his face. "So," he said again, grabbing the other man's shirt front in his fist and brandishing the night stick with the other, "where is he?"

"He's here," whimpered the man beneath him. "I'm Venezia. Paulo Venezia."

"Really?" said Roy, surprise lanced through him like a sniper's bullet. "You're Venezia?"

"I like music hall dancing," the other man did simply. "So," he continued, " we're alone. Are you going to beat me to a pulp? I think I deserve it. You see, I've been very bad. Oh, and if you've been very bad maybe I can spank you later."

"Thanks for the offer," said Roy, struggling to keep the amusement out of his voice. "But I've got a better idea."

Placing his knee high on the other man's chest, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his 'phone.

Whatever was left of Thea's patience had been eroded over the last few hours. The builders had finished repairing the floor and ceiling, disinterested police had been back to take statements and the bar staff had finally finished cleaning up and restocking the bar, but they were still late opening up. This was not acceptable! Regardless of the problems, she had to show strength; she could not be seen to be weak. Not in the face of gangsters, the police or her own staff.

And where was Roy? she thought. He hadn't replied to her last text and it had been hours since anyone had seen him. If he wanted to remain in a relationship, let alone in a job he'd better reverse his disappearing act and get back to helping at the bar. She pulled out her phone and checked for messages. There were none. She stared at its gaudy screen willing it to vibrate will an incoming text. It didn't.

She then became aware of someone calling her name. She turned her head in an automatic movement, her eyes still drawn to the screen on her hand. The voice called again and this time she felt a hand on her arm. She snapped out of the minor trance she's been in and quickly shot a glance at the figure who'd arrived at her side.

Recognition flooded over her.

"Roy?!" she cried, a cocktail of happiness and rage rising within her. "Where have you been? We've had things to do and you just ran off and left us! You know, of you want to keep this job you need to start being more responsible! People are stating to notice the preferential treatment. It won't be long before -"

Roy held up his phone, screen facing toward her, a wide grin on his face. Thea stopped mid sentence and stared agog at the photograph in front of her.

"Is this...?" she began, flashing curious eyes at Roy.

"Venezia?" he asked. "Yeah. He's got some secrets that he doesn't want the world to know about. You hang onto these and my guess is you won't get any more trouble from him."

Thea's face broke into a wide grin and she shock her head in disbelief and amusement. Words wouldn't form in her mouth. She just flashed bewildered a look between Roy and the phone

"Oh," he said, breaking the silence that had descended. "Before I forget. I also got you this."

He handed Thea an envelope, bulging with cash. She took it and instability knew that what Roy had said was true: she wouldn't have anymore trouble with Venezia. Roy grinned and walked over to the bar where he picked up a cloth and joined the other staff in cleaning glasses. Thea watched him go. Later, she thought, he'll get a reward. A special one.

She smiled.


End file.
